Almost
by sabibble
Summary: Pitch is certain that Jack will never accept him, not after Jack's refusal in Antarctica. Non-con.


So, I had this thought one day and wrote it out as a big thank-you and I'm-sorry to everyone who's waiting so patiently for an update on No More Moonlight! It's coming, and soon, but here's a little something else in the meantime! Blackice, non-con, read at your own risk, etc.  
PS, I welcome even the angriest of reviews with open arms :) gimme

* * *

He'd found him alone one night, wandering in the forest; he followed until Jack stopped at his pond, watching from the dark woods as the spirit sat and stared out over the frozen expanse. A wistful sigh caught Pitch's ear and tugged at the loneliness inside of him. He wanted desperately to _share_ these moments with the boy, that they might gain a sense of belonging and the sadness could finally ebb for both of them, and if Jack could just _see_ that he might agree. but Jack does not see what Pitch does, as he stares over the icy waters; the frost spirit sees the cold, empty flatness of the life he has accepted - and Pitch sees hope sitting on the shore.

It is an infuriating thing, Pitch thinks, that his love, his _need_, lingers so closely, yet he cannot collect it; that if he were to approach, Jack's peace would be broken and Pitch would be driven away. His fingers itched with inaction. He was _so close_.

If he could just _explain_ it to him, just let him know that things could be good, that Pitch could give him everything he wanted... but their encounter in Antarctica kept replaying tauntingly in his head, and he knew it would all go just the same. He would have to _show_ Jack, and give him no chance to object until the boy knew the entirety of what Pitch Black could offer him.

He was almost unaware of his drifting forth from the shadows, almost unaware of what his intentions truly meant. But _almost_ was enough to allow him to swiftly knock the frost spirit unconscious without guilt.

* * *

He had gone too far - that was painfully clear. But Jack would never listen, and so Pitch would be forced to _show_ him. That was the way it had to be, was it not? So he had told himself as he'd stripped the still-unconscious spirit and tied him to prevent struggle. It was the way it had to be.

The boy now knelt on the floor, wrists bound tightly behind his back with a silky black cloth of the same kind that covered his eyes. Tears leaked slowly from underneath the blindfold, teeth clamped tightly in what could have been anger, but the thick wave of fear that constantly rolled off him told Pitch otherwise. It was a fear of unknowing, a fear of _who_ and _why_.

It was with self-loathing that Pitch advanced on the prone body, driven onward and rendered practically senseless by the pulling, sweet smell of terror that belonged to Jack, _his _Jack. He wanted the frost spirit like nothing ever before in his life, but the boy would not be his willingly. They were enemies, but not by Pitch's own design; he had offered a home, a _friendship_, or more... everything he had to offer, but the boy had ignored it. He had nothing to give that could possibly turn the frost spirit's favour - so he would turn the favour with his own hands.

Pressing himself against a pale, chilly back, Pitch allowed himself to finally explore the boy as much as he wished; the quaking form shuddered as burning hands gripped his hips, moving to slide across Jack's cool belly, over the ribs that protected a frantically beating heart and up to a neck that Pitch longed to bite into. Instead he inhaled the boy's scent, pressing his nose and lips to the cold but warming flesh. Jack gave a small sob, trying to pull his neck away but the grip Pitch had on him was unrelenting. The movement made Pitch want to mark him, to show him that he would not get away, but some part of him would still not allow a physical pain upon Jack, his love, and so he merely made the boy still by sliding his teeth slowly from shoulder to throat, to show that he _could_ but did not have to hurt him.

The message was clear, and the fear that Pitch felt from him now contained a broken acceptance. He no longer struggled, even as Pitch bent him over so his chest and cheek pressed against the floor. He didn't struggle as hot, dark hands massaged his hips and pressed burning fingers into his mouth. He cried out and sobbed as Pitch leaned over him and pressed his lips once more to the juncture of neck and jaw, all the while teasing wet digits at an entrance not meant for them. But he did not struggle.

His fear spiked when he felt Pitch's arousal against him, and the dark man felt his disappointment at the reaction overshadowed by his fierce need to _possess_ the boy, and finally have him for his own. He began to push in, wishing as he pressed kisses to a wet, trembling cheek that he could be seeing the boy's beautiful eyes full of love as he kissed back.

"Ah!" Jack's head snapped up, his whole body lurching at the intrusion. He was shaking and stifling quiet sobs as Pitch pushed in further; he tried to tell himself the boy was just getting used to it, that maybe it was his first time and he was afraid... but these thoughts were mere wishes, as he knew perfectly well what he was doing to the frost spirit.

He hated himself, but he could not stop; he closed his eyes to the reality of the trembling body that leaked quiet whimpers and cries, turning the sensations in his mind to signs of a willing partner. He imagined a Jack who asked for _more_ rather than to _please, please stop_.

He needed to see Jack's face, at least, and paused long enough to turn him and lift him to his lap, pressing back up into the frost spirit and pulling the pale hips down to meet him. As he returned his lips to the corner of Jack's jaw and ear, one hand lifted to cup a soft neck, firmly stroking the snow-white fringe of hair that topped it.

The boy had grown quiet, and Pitch hoped he'd found a way to enjoy this, found some place in his mind where it was not so bad, where he was with someone he could accept.

In his mindless thrusting he almost didn't catch the tiny, needy whisper; he could easily have missed the breathy exhale that shaped itself into a dream Pitch would have never believed, and he would never have known. But _almost_ was enough, and he stopped completely in shock as his own name drifted to his ears.

He couldn't have known; he didn't know who had snatched him up in the night, and his fears would have betrayed it, so then...

Pitch moved to look at Jack's face, to watch in hope as he hesitantly pulled the blindfold from his eyes. He almost didn't do it. Almost. _Almost._

A gasp of recognition tore from Jack before fresh tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks. He ducked down to rest his forehead on Pitch's shoulder, breathing small, relieved sobs as Pitch held him, stroked him, and kissed him fiercely, the dark spirit muttering _I'm sorry, so sorry_ over and over again in a broken, raspy voice.

"_Oh_, thank MiM it's you," Jack whispered, as earnestly as his shaking voice would allow.

* * *

_AN/ I guess the easiest way to explain this is that I've been feeling depressed and took it out on Jack...? Sorry Jack :'I  
Please review! Did this bug you, did you like it, would you wanna see more? I wanna hear about it! :D Thanks everyone!_


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